


Infected

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Series: ABO Dark!verse [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A/B/O, ABO, Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Control Issues, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Incest, Kinda, Knotting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Omega Verse, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Lubrication, Sibling Incest, Teen Pregnancy, Therapy, dark!abo verse, shows up at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: "I'm sick."





	Infected

_ I’m sick _ , Stan thinks to himself as he meets his brother. Ford is a machine, panting hot against his ear, moaning about how good Stan is, how hot, how tight, how wet and how much he loves him and Stan, Stan,  _ Stan _ ! Ford bites his neck, making Stan groan, high and breathless as Ford tries to chew him open while sealing him shut with his swelling knot. Stan eyes roll and his mouth open in a slack sigh, an aaah of both satiation and frustration. His body relaxes as it registers fullness but his hips still twitch, his cock still hard and wet. Ford grabs Stan’s dick (Ford doesn’t like it when Stan tries to get himself off, doesn’t like the reminder that Ford’s knot isn’t always enough). It’s a loose and teasing; Stan hums disgruntled noises, body pliant besides the tension in his gut that is becoming unbearable.   
“I love having you around me,” Ford says, kissing Stan’s face. “I wish I could always have you warming my cock.” Ford whispers and Stan shudders at the thought, ass spasming and Ford bites at his ear with a growl. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Ford licks and sucks at Stan’s face, adoring and at odds with his filthy words. “Being your brother’s cock sleeve?” Stan shivers and thinks, again,  _ I’m sick _ . Because he says:   
“Yes.”   
  
Stan's sick, he knows. He's writhed under his father, begged for his dick, spread himself open without hesitation. He’s an omega. It's in his blood to be a whore. Pops has told him as much. If Stan was gonna be a screw up in school and not even that good at using his fists, he might as well get good at getting fucked. And it isn’t that bad. Getting called to Pops’s office is a nightmare that sometimes has him puking before he goes to bed or waking up in the middle of the night, panting and sweating and hard. When tossing and turning and pinching and biting his wrists don’t help, he gives up and jacks his dick as fast as he can. Sometimes he remembers when Pops would hit that hot spot inside him or the feel of his big, rough palms on his balls. When he's about to come and his brain's lit up like a city skyline, he sometimes remembers how sweat gleams on his brother’s skin and follows the curve of his spine. He muffles his moan as he comes into his pillow and then shoves his face in harder until he's forced to come up for air, gasping and thinking:  _ I’m sick _ .   
  
The worst part about being pregnant, besides the daily realizations that there was a thing alive inside him and  _ his father put it there _ , was the constant hum of arousal. When he was still in school, still blissfully thinking he was only getting fat, he’d get the typical, random wood boy get. Then he’d start to feel a wetness between his ass cheeks and he’d have a crisis--run to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t stain his jeans while showing off his boner or sit there and sweat for the rest of the class, restless and horny.   
Ford jabs him with a pencil when Stan starts to grumble under his breath and hisses at him to pay attention.   
  
Pops recognizes Stan’s restlessness just like he recognized Stan’s first heat and the universe wants to fuck Stan over in every way.    
“Your Ma was like this,” Pops says, languid but hard and deep. Stan bites his arm to keep quiet because Ma and Ford are upstairs and the walls and floors of this house are paper thin.   
It feels good in the worst ways, lighting up Stan’s gut and turning it, too. He starts to feel that stretched out feeling like a rubber band, feels wound tighter and tighter and tighter and then.   
He goes limp and loose and Pops groans in appreciation as Stan’s body stops fighting him and he can move with ease.  It’s like the rubber band doesn’t so much as snap but disappears like it was never there. He can feel everything, the hands and rough lips under a rougher mustache, the weight in his balls. It's feels disgusting when Pops leaves  a slug’s trail of spit on his neck but it’s far away.   
He starts to enjoy it, starts to moan and feels the drool on his arms from his panting mouth. Pops leans back, a hand on the back of Stan’s neck--he likes to do that--and starts to fuck him fast. Stan thinks that he likes it when Pops gives up control and becomes an animal like the rest of them. He starts to move back and angle his hips to make it better. It’s not so bad like this. When Pops comes inside of him, hand a vice on his nape, Stan almost likes it.  _ I’m sick _ , he thinks to himself as his own body spasms in response.   
  
“I’m sick,” he tells the women in the office with toys on the wall and he will vehemently deny that he wants to touch. They’re bright and he never had toys like that.   
“What makes you say that?” The woman, the doctor, asks. She’s mild and sweet and Stan feels trapped in this room with the stupid classical music playing softly.   
“‘Cause I fucked my Pops, that ain’t in the folder?”   
“Do you want to talk about that?” She asks.   
“No,” Stan snaps, hard and sure. He does anyway. 


End file.
